


Grey and colour

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the hc_bingo prompt depression</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey and colour

**Author's Note:**

> WANRINGS: depressions, mentions of suicidal thoughts and self harm.

"The streets never look anything except grey, on the bad days. I never notice it, though, until it's too late. I never notice the absence of colour until someone says something that reminds me of it. For example, the other day Merlin said he admired people who always saw beauty in what most people see as ugly and I thought 'that's me'. Because the lines and the shades and shadows and random shapes and moments on the tarmac make it beautiful. Except, it hasn't been. It's just been grey. So I try to see it again, but it's too late, it's gone, I've lost it. I draw from my head when it's the bad days, instead of observation. I draw dragons smoking and having a chat about eating the human beside them, I draw random people with big feet, I draw faces who are no one with hair and scars. Or, when it's really bad, I scribble and colour in the spaces, or cut up paper and make disjointed, ugly little boxes. 

I don't like talking, when it's bad, and I'm very aware of that so I talk more and more until it's just a stream of mean words that I can't stop. I have no patience with people so I'm rude and obnoxious to them and I find them silly, stupid, unintelligent blobs who don't perceive half of what I do. It makes me angry because they, who are dumb and can't see beyond their own noses and are obsessed with pointless things and can't live up to any standards, let alone their own, are succeeding while I'm not. I never think of it as 'I'm better than them'. It's more 'my mind is bigger and more expansive than theirs'. On the good days, I know that that's not true and I'm just not very good at controlling the movement of my thoughts and I just have no coping mechanisms so all the thoughts just stream through. No filter means something different than it does as a hash tag. 

I take pictures, sometimes. I have a huge, clunky camera. I'm embarrassed to use it, though, or to share the results in case people think of me the way I think of them. Stupid posers. Trying too hard. Useless. Shouldn't bother. Think they're amazing. Don't need that camera, they're useless. They think that's a brilliant camera. Not even close. They think that's a good photo. On and on, I can't stop it. I know it's not true, and I know that they are infinitely more adept than me. It's like I met this person who was taking piano lessons. Their teacher used the method of structure. Learning the notes, doing the scales, getting positioning right, strict about all that. Not actually learning pieces until they had those things down. I scoffed, because I had learnt, as a child, instinctively and through studying pieces, the opposite approach. I thought I was probably more skilled than them. Which is stupid, because I've never heard them play, and I actually admire that way of learning. 

I don't know if I'm depressed. I mean, is this depression, or this this just my personality? I feel like when my mother died it scattered certain things about me. I lost huge chunks of my personality and character and I've never been able to retrieve them. Her death arrested things that were not yet fully learnt or grown. I sometimes think perhaps my identity as asexual is incorrect and I simply stopped developing, stopped growing, kind of stopped existing, the moment she died. I don't think that's depression, I think that's just general fucked-up-ness."

Arthur stops talking and tries to still his leg, stop it jiggling up and down like a nervous school boy's. He laughs, thinking that's an illustration of his point, and manages to look up at the doctor. He's just examining a computer screen. 

"Alright," the doctor says, turning to Arthur and smiling, "thank you for sharing that. If you feel there's something wrong, odds are there really is something wrong. I'm going to ask you to take the test I'm printing out. It's simplistic and rather useless as a diagnostic tool, because the things it asks actually fit a variety of diagnoses. I'm going to refer you to a specelist who can make a diagnosis based on her knowledge and experience. It does sound like depression, from what you've told me, so I'll be making that diagnosis myself, based on the outcomes of the questionnaire. "

Arthur takes the papers and reads the questions, fear growing, lumping in his throat. Because he doesn't know how to answer. It's impossible to be truthful, he's spent his whole life lying about these things. He decides to answer as truthfully as he ever does and circles the numbers. He stops when he gets to the questions about suicide and self harm, thinking about the old marks running across his thighs. Old as in months old. He never left his teenage angst behind. He has no coping mechanisms. He circles 'zero'. He never self harms. He doesn't like the word or the connotations and he's never said it, never named it, even to himself. He circles 'one' on the suicide scale because it's about the last few weeks and the thoughts recently have been idle, the plans impossible to complete.

The doctor names it depression and sends him away. Arthur goes home and turns all his electronics off and lies in bed, trying to think of something to do with the rest of his day off. He ends up wanking, listening to Jaqulin Du Pre, trying to fantasize about Merlin. He comes to a picture of Merlin in his head, but it's very brief and he's pretty sure that Merlin has nothing to do with the orgasm. He does enjoy thinking about Merlin, but it doesn't arouse him. he likes to imagine them drinking coffee, likes to imagine him and Merlin in four years, Merlin's friends in Arthur's big inherited house, asking Merlin how he afforded it and Merlin laughing and telling the story of Arthur's ridiculous wealth and how Merlin helped him learn to use it for more than 'buying chocolate when he's on a binge'. And paying the people who keep his house in a state that human beings can live in it. He pays them quite a lot, because he goes long stretches where he can't bear anyone in his space and those stretches usually involve huge amounts of not-tidying and not even making it to the bin to put rubbish in so it gets disgusting. 

Arthur goes to sleep at seven o'clock, having got off twice and run out of things to do. He listens to Harry Potter and drifts off to fantasies about Merlin and his life together. 

***

"A good morning to you, Arthur. You are late!" Merlin says, cheerful and not at all cross, the next morning. 

Arthur waves and staggers into the staff room, dragging on his work shirt and trying to make something of his birds' nest of hair and pulling on the jacket he bought the other day to hide the stains on his only work shirt. He pulls his uniform tie off the hook and staggers back out. 

"Can you count the float on the till?" Merlin asks, before vanishing down to the stock room. 

Arthur has to count it four times before he gets a reliable number. Today is not a good day. He puts the money in the till, looks around and then goes to arrange the stock on the shelves, trying to wake up and get out of his 'at home on the computer' state of mind. Merlin frowns at him when he comes back into the shop and comes over, touching his shoulder. 

"You look pale, again, are you feeling okay?" Merlin asks. 

"Sure," Arthur says, not reacting to the touch, though it tingles all through him because no one touches him. 

He knows no one, who would touch him? The only person he knows is Merlin, and Merlin's his boss. The man he has dreams of living as non-sexual life partners with. Arthur laughs. 

"Seriously, Arthur, are you sure you're alright? I'm asking as a mate, not as a colleague."

"Apparently I'm depressed," Arthur blurts out, because he's still a little caught up in his fantasy of Merlin as his partner and he likes Merlin and Merlin's always so good at making him feel intimate and close and warm, "I slept for twelve hours later night. Oh look, the time. We need to open."

"Right, we do. That sucks, let me know if there are any adjustments you need?" Merlin says. 

Arthur feels tears well up as Merlin takes it all in stride, going to open the doors. Arthur retreats behind the counter and Merlin joins him. They sit side by side for a bit, but when no one comes in for their expertise on model making, Merlin turns to Arthur and grins. 

"You'll never guess what I just realised," Merlin says. 

"No, I probably won't. You're head is a weird place," Arthur says, automatically. 

"Har har. Actually, it's your head I realised about. See, if you're depressed, maybe you're not oblivious. I'm about to make everything incredibly awkward by pointing out I've been flirting with you."

Merlin laughs, bending over himself, waving his confession away. Arthur's not sure if it's a joke, or what. Doesn't really matter, though. He takes it in that regard and grins back.

"What a shame I'm asexual, not entirely sure I'm male and come with so much baggage I'm not sure I even count as human most of the time," Arthur says lightly. 

Merlin makes a face, then turns sharply and gets hold of Arthur's chin, making him meet Merlin's eyes, fierce.

"Don't you think that. Or if you do, think it in terms of the idiot who define 'human' by themselves. You're lovely, don't let people tell you different."

"Who would tell me that?" Arthur laughs, "I don't know anyone."

"Well, you know me. I'm going to tell you every day that you're lovely, but in return you have to not call yourself degrading names in front of me. Or try not to. It seems that self deprecation is automatic for you. And, also, I am going to take you on a date because you seem to think that 'dating' equates to 'perfect self' and 'normal people' and 'sex'. I'm not asexual, I have a low libido though and am willing to compromise and work something out about that. It doesn't matter for now, I don't usually sleep with people until I've been dating them at least two months, anyway. I'm slow that way."

Arthur tugs his face away, blushing crimson, as the bell goes and two guys wander in, talking loudly. Merlin bounces away to serve them and Arthur's left to try and make sense of that. He's worked here for three weeks, which feels like a lifetime to him. He's incredibly grateful to Gaius for finding him the job, if a little humiliated by it, and he's enjoyed Merlin's company, but he'd never thought that Merlin would be on board with his fantasies. He decides to say yes to the date, but then the people are gone and Merlin's back and Arthur doesn't know how to. 

"Are you going to say yes or no?" Merlin asks. 

"Yes," Arthur manages, then blushes again. 

"Good. In that case, can you stop with the rather disturbing lack of mocking? I wore this t-shirt on purpose because I thought you'd get a kick out of making me into a dumb ass for wearing it."

Arthur looks at Merlin's shirt and starts to laugh. He gets started mocking it, and then gets started complaining about how Merlin doesn't have to wear the uniform, and then gets started on defending his hair from Merlin's mocking and defending his choice to wear the uniform. He feels himself balancing out, his equlibrium returning, and starts beaming, unable to stop. He might be depressed and useless and not actually a human, but he has a boyfriend now. It's not going to make anything go away, but it does make him feel less alone. Also, Merlin's awesome. Arthur can enjoy that awesomeness without having to make himself better, first. That's good.


End file.
